


It Is An Ever-Fixed Mark

by amoralagent



Series: I'm Very Fawned of You, My Deer [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannigram - Freeform, Hurt and comfort, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Will Loves Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 01:30:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11887068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoralagent/pseuds/amoralagent
Summary: Their rhythmic breathing was all around him, feeling Hannibal's ribs expanding under his palms in coordination with his own, "This is all your fault.""As most things are."These two leaning into each other in the kitchen after an exhausting day and an unwelcome nightmare, all fingers carding through hair and trailing down spines until they can relax again, and learn to smile.





	It Is An Ever-Fixed Mark

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare

"I don't want to move." Will admits to the space behind Hannibal, nosing against the man's cheek and sighing.

Hannibal secures his arms tighter and turns his head to speak into the softness of Will's unruly curls, just behind his ear: "You don't have to." He placed a lingering kiss there before dropping his head to nestle in the space where his neck meets his shoulder.

"We do, if we want to survive." Their rhythmic breathing was all around him, feeling Hannibal's ribs expanding under his palms in coordination with his own, "This is all your fault."

"As most things are."

Will traced his fingers in patterns down his shoulder blades and back up, "You started it."

"So end it," Hannibal mumbled challengingly, teeth brushing against Will's skin. Both of them had been standing silently in the kitchen holding each other for more than handful of minutes now. It started off as Hannibal stroking hair out of Will's tired face in the wake of a nightmare, bringing him in for a hug that seemingly refused to end.

There may as well have been rope tying them together. Only there wasn't. Nothing to distract them. Just the distinctive scent of home and dust dancing in the air, the slight hum of the light above attracting a lodging moth, and the inky blackness beyond the windows pressing up against the glass. Hannibal's thumbs fit nicely into the hollows of Will's spine, hands wandering all the way down from his hair, pads of his fingers gliding in circles under his shirt, comforting. He could, and has, fallen asleep to the feeling of Hannibal's hands drawing on his back as gentle as a love-fraught sigh, a moonbeam, cold and light. Those nights, he wouldn't have nightmares, and instead he'd dream of bedsheets in the wind and floating without worry on the surface of a lake.

"You're going to have to carry me."

_"Will I now?"_

"Unless it'll throw your back out; you've done it before but that was a few years ago now." Will hooked his arms around Hannibal's neck and grinned, mocking: "Senility gets us all, _Doctor Lecter_."

Hannibal hummed in response, sighing like he'd been defeated, "Maybe you're right."

Will scoffed, "I know I'm not," Suddenly, he hopped up to wrap his legs around Hannibal's waist, the older man not even flinching, spread hands securing under his thighs, "Come on, old man, off we go!" That caused an equally sudden jerk of a bouncing action to adjust his grip like you would do with a baby, and Hannibal walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs without incident, as if Will was the same weight as one. Will couldn't help but laugh the entire way.

 


End file.
